Through the Front Door
by LegalBlonde
Summary: COMPLETE. Sydney gets her wish, only to be reminded wishes come with strings attached. Double Agent post-ep.
1. Default Chapter

Author: LegalBlonde

Email: Legalblonde2005@yahoo.com

Rating: PG

Classification: General/vignette

Disclaimer: They're not mine.  I don't make money off this, or anything else for that matter.  Don't sue. 

Summary:  Sydney gets her wish, only to be reminded wishes come with strings attached. 1/3.

Author's Note: Sydney's POV.  Much thanks to everyone who left feedback on "Aftermath", you guys inspired me to keep going.

**************

My heels click across the driveway as I'm digging through my purse for the car keys.  It's amazing, the smaller a purse I buy, the harder it gets to find my keys.  Finally! I pull them out and aim them triumphantly toward the car.  Just as I'm about to hit the disarm button, another hand wraps around them.  A very attractive hand.  It's followed by a male voice, close to my ear.  

"Nope, I'm driving this morning."  I shake my head and turn to face him, greeted by a smile that's way too bright for eight o'clock in the morning.  

"Oh, no.  Tell me you're not going to turn into one of those macho-I've-gotta-drive guys.  Because this will definitely need some rethinking."  

"No," he says, reaching down to open the passenger-side door.  "You said you wanted to walk in the front door, and I said I wanted to drive you.  We both get our wish."  That self-satisfied grin grows wider, and I am genuinely amazed I've been able to go this long without seeing it every morning.  I smile back – way too brightly for eight o'clock in the morning – and slide inside the car.

"Besides, this way I have to drive you home tonight."

I watch the LA skyline slide by on the drive to work, letting it sink in that this is my life, this, not the cloak-and-dagger running routine I've practiced almost daily for the last four months.  We pull into the CIA parking lot, and I'm trying very hard not to laugh at Vaughn, who's racing through the rows of parking spaces faster than he was taking the freeway, muttering something under his breath about new recruits.    

"Glad you're enjoying this."

"Hey, I had to run from home every day."

"Was it uphill both ways?"

"Very funny."  I shake my head.  "You know, I never even thought about this place having a parking lot.  I knew it had one, I guess, I just never thought I'd be using it."

"Don't get used to it.  Tomorrow we're parking at your place.  It's closer," he says, pulling into a spot six rows from the front door.  As he turns off the ignition, he reaches over to squeeze my hand.  Serious Vaughn is back.  

"You ready?"

I lean over and kiss him softly.  

"Now I am."

We're barely through the doors when we run into my father and Kendall, involved in what looks to be a serious conversation.  So much for covert entry.  

"Agent Vaughn, Agent Bristow, good morning.  We're bringing some of the SD-6 personnel in for debrief today."

"Dixon and Marshall?" I ask.

"Not yet.  Agent Weiss has already spoken with Mr. Flinkman, and he's downstairs with some of our tech people.  You'll see him later in the day.  Mr. Dixon has been somewhat -- unresponsive."  

I purse my lips and study the floor.  It should hurt less by now.  It doesn't.  "Do you think I should talk to him?"

"No," Dad breaks in.  "Sydney, I'll talk to Dixon.  I was his superior at SD-6; I think he might be more amenable to speaking with me."  I nod, knowing his former position has nothing to do with it.  

"Let me know when he's ready to meet with me."

"I will."

Kendall hands me a thick file.  "Agent Bristow, I would like you to meet with Evidence Team Three this morning.  They've catalogued forty-seven items from the SD-6 vault, a number of which are believed to be Rambaldi artifacts.  I would like you to bring them up to speed on your experience with the items and provide them with any background information you can."  

"No problem.  Second floor?"

"Yes."  I risk a sideways glance at Vaughn before I turn toward the elevators.  He returns the glance as Kendall starts rattling off about another debrief.  My father follows me to the elevators, but doesn't speak until we reach the second floor.  Just we step out into the hallway, he grasps my arm and stops me in front of an empty office. 

"Sydney, there's something I'd like to discuss with you."  He opens the door and I step past him into the room, leaning against a desk.  I never went to the principal's office as a kid, but I have the strange idea this is what it must have felt like.  

"What is it?"

He clears his throat.  "I know your personal life is none of my concern --"  

Oh, no.  "Dad, where are you going with this?"

"I just want to know that you're being careful." 

Please, please tell me I'm not getting the sex talk. 

"Dad, whatever you think is going on --"

"Sydney, as I said, your personal life is your concern.  But it has been my experience that emotional entanglements can cloud one's judgement.  I just want you to realize the gravity of your situation."

I shake my head at my father, the relationship guru.  Watch out, Oprah.  

"_You_ are lecturing _me_ on how to conduct a relationship?"  I'm still shaking my head as I step past him and reach for the door.  

"Sydney," he says, laying his hand on my arm.  "Please, perhaps I'm not being -- I'm not coming across the way I want."  I wait, but keep one hand on the doorknob.  He's having trouble with this.  He meets my eyes for a moment, then looks just off to the left, addressing the next sentence to the blank wall behind me.  "When I was your age, I had everything I wanted.  A wife I loved, a beautiful young daughter, a budding career."  His tone becomes harder, and he looks straight at me.  "But that blinded me.  I didn't see what was coming.  I didn't see what your mother --"  He breaks off, drawing a breath.  "I learned many lessons after she left.  Not the least of which is that personal attachments are liabilities."  He lets the words hang, not dropping my gaze.

"Dad, if you're trying to insinuate--"

"I'm not trying to insinuate anything." He pauses, and we're back to the blank wall again.  "I want you to be happy.  I just don't want you to be in a situation where you're thinking with your heart when you should be thinking with your head."

"I've been a spy for seven years, Dad.  I'm not about to do anything that would put me or my fellow agents in jeopardy."  

He doesn't respond, and I'm honestly not sure whether to be pissed or charmed.  He's obviously not sure either.  And I can leave it at that.  I incline my head toward him just a bit and twist the doorknob.  As I walk toward the evidence room, he wordlessly turns back to the other end of the hall.  


	2. Chapter 2

Author's note:  Post-"Double Agent", spoilers from the preview/TV Guide description of "Free Agent" may be referred to.  This was intended to be a short vignette, but based on the feedback I've received I'm taking it in a different direction, and fulfilling some of that foreshadowing.  

**************

The rest of the morning passes quickly, spent in the giant evidence bay, which is lined with long metal tables stretching from one end of the room to the other.  Florescent lights hang low on steel cables, illuminating whatever item the team members are huddled around.  There are about twenty items in the room at the moment, and at any moment anywhere from two to five technicians are bent over each item, examining, photographing, taking samples and comparing the item to thick files of existing intelligence on the artifact.  It's really kind of fascinating.  I circulate around the room, sharing any information I know on the items (many of which I've never heard of), especially those items that are CIA forgeries planted in SD-6.  I don't know why they're analyzing those things – they probably helped create them – but when I ask, someone in a lab coat mutters something about protocol and scurries on to the next table.  

I'm beginning to think "protocol" is the dirtiest word in the English language.  

The team begins to filter out, singly and in small clusters, and I realize it's time for lunch.  No sooner do I think the word than my stomach sends out a rather conspicuous growl.  I'm surprised it didn't start bothering me earlier.  I never did eat dinner last night.  

Taking a much-needed break, I wander downstairs to see what Vaughn is doing for lunch.  Today is a day of firsts -- I've never been allowed in the cafeteria here, since it's open to personnel with low-level security clearance.  Time to try it out.  

I'm just entering the bullpen when Vaughn storms in from the opposite direction, clearly glad to be out of whatever he was just in.  He and Weiss are already talking as I approach, and I gather he's been in an extended briefing ever since we ran into Kendall this morning.

"…and after three hours I realize the point is Kendall has to take the whole thing to the Director but he wanted me to sit in a room with him for _four hours_ first." 

"Wow.  Sucks.  Makes my morning conference with Agent Phillips seem so tough."

"Oh, don't tell me."

"I'm telling you, Mike, it's hard to resist my boyish charm."  

"Right." 

At this point, it dawns on me they still haven't seen me and I'm effectively eavesdropping.  I should feel guilty.  I'll keep working on that.

"Speaking of which, I saw you come in this morning."

"Don't say it."

"I'm not --"

"I mean it."

"It's ju--"

"Don't."

"Fine," comes out as more of an exasperated sigh as Weiss leans over his work, muttering.  "But that lipstick is really not your shade." 

"_What?"_  Vaughn's face instantly drains of color and he brings his hand up over his mouth, wiping his lips with a decisive motion.  His hand comes away…clean.

"You s--"

"But, boy, did you look guilty."

I can't help it.  I laugh out loud.  Vaughn, who was already turning an attractive shade of pink, is positively scarlet when he sees me standing there.  Weiss is looking a little flushed as well.

"I was just coming down to see if either of you guys wanted to grab some lunch, but clearly you have more, um, interesting subjects to discuss."

"Sydney--"

"Syd--" They start out at once.  This is too much fun.  

"So which one of you is buying?"

***********

We're not even done with lunch before we're summoned to one of Kendall's famous mystery briefings.  Vaughn looks like he's about to snap.  I give him a sympathetic smile as we all file into the conference room.  We're joined by my father, Kendall, that cute analyst from the third floor, and a tech guy I vaguely remember from one of my early missions here.  

"Thank you for coming in on such short notice.  I was just given some information from one of our evidence teams that I needs our immediate attention."  

A black-and-white photo flashes onto the screen behind him.  I recognize it as a small Rambaldi sculpture I was asked to look at upstairs.  It's barely a foot tall and carved from black marble.  It's the image of a horse, raring up, front hooves pawing the air. 

"We don't yet know the significance of this item, but we did notice one odd feature."  Next photo.  "The base, front hooves, and muzzle of the horse line up on a perfectly vertical plane.  We weren't sure what this meant until about an hour ago."  The photo behind him displays the vertical line of the statue, lined perfectly up against a large book.  

"One of our agents in San Francisco just reported an event taking place tonight.  It seems Arturo Salencia is throwing a party at his estate to unveil a new addition to his art collection.  Salencia is a suspected SD-6 supporter who is known to have made much of his fortune in the drug trade.  The item he is unveiling is a perfect match to the sculpture we have upstairs.  The two are a matched set of bookends."

"So you want us to retrieve the other half?"

"Yes, Agent Vaughn.  You and Agent Bristow will be attending the party this evening.  One of you will keep Salencia occupied while the other makes the switch.  We want to make sure he doesn't suspect anything until the party is over."

"And you want me to get close to him?" I ask.  

"No, actually, we want Agent Vaughn to get close to him."  Eyebrows all round.

"Given Salencia's typical company, we think Agent Vaughn stands a better chance of keeping him occupied."

I smirk.  Weiss looks like he's about to wet himself.  Vaughn studies the table.  

"Agent Bristow, you'll be posing as an insurance agent charged with inspecting Salencia's security.  Your job is to make the switch _before_ the statue is unveiled.  Agent Vaughn, your job is to ensure Agent Bristow is left alone with the statue."  I glance up at Vaughn.  That must be a very interesting table.  

The tech guy I can't quite place pipes up.  

"You'll be taking a couple things on the mission.  This is the copy of the artifact."  He lifts a heavy statuette onto the table.  "Obviously, you can't carry this thing through the front door.  Which is why it does this."  He twists the base a bit and slides the statue in half, forming two slender vertical pieces.  "The two halves will fit into a briefcase we'll provide you."  His dry delivery is a stark contrast to Marshall, and I feel a pang at the thought.  Kendall's promise I could speak to him today is obviously about to be broken.  

"Agent Vaughn, you'll be wearing these."  Oh, I can't wait for this.  I don't even risk looking up at Weiss.  

He opens a box containing, sadly, a set of cuff links.  "The left one sends a signal that will disrupt the security alarm in the area around the statue.  You'll activate it as soon as you have Salencia out of the way.  The right one is your transmitter; Agent Weiss will be your contact."  Ok, Weiss is seriously going to lose it.  "As soon as the alarm is deactivated, notify Weiss.  He will meet Agent Bristow at the servant's entrance for the handoff."  Weiss gives him a professional nod, which I'm sure takes an incredible amount of self-control.  

"The three of you will be leaving on our plane at four o'clock.  That's all.  Thanks, everyone."

We file out, and I can tell Weiss is just waiting to get Vaughn outside.  When we get back to the bullpen, Vaughn shoots him a look that says, "speak, and our friendship is over." Vaughn turns to me.

"Do you want me to drop you off at the house?  You can pick up your car."

Eyebrows from Weiss.  

"No, there's something I need to do here first.  Why don't you get ready and we can stop by my place on the way to the airport.  I don't need much."  He nods his assent and I take off before I can hear the hell Weiss is about to give him.  

It's time to make a visit I've been putting off too long.

*****************

"I'd like to see the prisoner, please."

"Agent Bristow, we don't have this down as a scheduled visit."

"I'm leaving on a mission in half an hour.  You can schedule the visit after I get back."

The doors open.

She's sitting cross-legged on the floor, her back turned to me.  She stands before I approach the glass, as if she knows I'm there. She faces me through the partition, a slight smile on her face.  

"Sydney.  I was wondering when you would be down."  As always, I'm guarded.

"Why is that?"

She looks mildly surprised.  "After all that's happened?  I'm surprised you haven't been down here earlier.  I guess I should say congratulations."  On the last sentence, she gives me a full-blown smile.  

"How did you know?"  _And how much do you know?_

"Your father told me.  Don't look so surprised, Sydney.  He came down here nearly two days ago."  

"So, he told you everything?"  The smile slides back into the sly grin.

"Oh, I'm sure he didn't tell me everything.  But he told me about your victory over the Alliance.  The raids, all the cells, Sloane's disappearance -- it seems your operation was very successful."

I can't help it; I smile brightly.  It's still amazing to hear the words.  

"I wouldn't count Sloane's disappearance as a victory."

She shakes her head.

"Sloane will turn up, Sydney, soon enough.  Without his organization I doubt he can elude capture very long."  She glances down, studying her hands for a moment.  They're resting against the glass, not far from where mine rest on the other side.  She looks back up, meeting my eyes.

"What I really want to know is what this means for you.  You're free now, you know.  You can leave.  You can have the life you want."  I drop my own gaze, not sure what I should tell her.  I haven't even discussed this with Vaughn yet.  

"I don't know what I'm going to do yet."

"Sydney, you don't expect me to accept that.  I know how much this life pains you, how much you want out.  You're graduating soon.  Don't you want to see what life has to offer?"  Her tone is that of a mother admonishing her daughter before she graduates high school.  I realize, with a start, that's not far off the mark.  I look at her again.  

"I haven't made any decisions yet.  I know I have more options now--" I glance around, to make sure none of the guards is within earshot "-- but I want to wait until after graduation to make any decisions about the CIA.  We still have a lot of SD-6 cleanup to do, and I want to at least be here for that."  I realize I've just admitted to her more than I've admitted to anyone.  

"And what does this mean for you and Agent Vaughn?  He's not your handler anymore.  The two of you can't keep hiding behind protocol."

"We weren't hiding--" I snap, breaking off before I say too much.  She waits for me to continue.  I don't.  

"You're a woman, Sydney.  Don't start thinking of yourself only as a spy, no matter how much everyone around you seems to.  I know what a great mistake that can be."  The pain is evident in her voice, and I find myself wondering about this woman, this spy -- a false marriage, a daughter she couldn't see, twenty years in exile.  For the first time, I wonder how high a price my mother paid.  

We stand there a moment longer, neither ready to speak and neither ready to leave.  Finally, I take a deep breath, and it's back to professional mode.

"I have to go; I have a mission to prepare for."

"Goodbye, Sydney."

"Bye…Mom."


	3. Chapter 3

I walk up to the Salencia estate, dressed in an outfit not too different from my Credit Dauphine attire.  Black suit, low heels, silver-rimmed glasses and hair tied back in a tight bun.  The heavy briefcase matches my suit.  I walk up to the enormous carved oak front door and press the bell.  It's answered by someone to beefy to be the butler.  He looks me up and down, disapproving.

"Hello, I'm Elena Meredith, with Weymouth International."  I proffer a business card.  He doesn't take it.  

"You late, Ms. Meredith."

"My flight was delayed.  I'd like to begin as soon as possible."  He nods and moves aside to let me enter.  Inside the giant entryway, I can hear a jazz band and the sound of voices filtering through from a room nearby.  

"Most of the guests have arrived.  Mr. Salencia will be with you as soon as he can tear himself away.  Would you like to start with the gallery?"

"No.  I'd like to inspect the artifact first."  

"Very well, right this way."  

He veers off to the left, away from the din of the cavernous ballroom I glimpse down the other hall.  Vaughn must be here already.  I follow a couple steps behind him as we walk, pretending to adjust my collar as I activate my comm button.  I'm rewarded with Weiss' voice on the other end.  

_"You're live, Sydney.  We've intercepted the feed from the internal security cameras. We've got you on the hall cam and Vaughn in the ballroom." _ I wait for it.

_"As a matter of fact, we have a_ lot_ of Vaughn in the ballroom." _ There it is.  I duck my head to hide the smile.  They really shouldn't let Weiss have the microphone.  

"I heard that."  Vaughn's voice is a little crackly from the connection.  "Next mission, you're bait."  

Beefy guy (he never did tell me his name -- cheap intimidation tactic) opens the fifth nine-foot, carved oak door I've seen since I've been here and ushers me into a large, round room.  On a pedestal in the very center sits a cube draped in red silk.  A few other security types are scattered around the place, along with some rather nervous-looking suits.  The suits are sipping champagne and the bouncers are watching me.  I stride up to the pedestal and kneel down, flipping open the slender top compartment of my briefcase.  I pull out a cell phone-sized device and run it up the pedestal, pretending to take readings.  The size of the room and the pedestal provide me a little privacy.

"I'm with the artifact," I murmur.  

_"Good, they should send Salencia in to meet you in just a minute.  Vaughn, that's him with that large group over by the fountain.  Go make yourself available." _Ok, they really shouldn't give Weiss a microphone.  

"Working on it."

_"You're working slowly."_

_"Remind me why didn't they get you to do this?"_

_"You're prettier than me." _

"Don't call me pretty."

_"Please, Mike, you're prettier than your girlfriend."_

_"Hey!"_

_"Sorry, Syd, I meant his ex-girlfriend.  And can I mention how much it scares me that you two are already speaking in unison?"_

Vaughn must have reached the group, because he doesn't have a retort for that one.  I switch between different instruments and keep taking fake readings, trying not to make any large movements.  Dad and Weiss will be recording this and looping it through the security camera in a few minutes when we make the switch.  

The large door opens a minute later.  The man who escorted me in enters behind a man I recognize as Salencia.  He extends his hand.

"Ms. Meredith, I take it you're finding everything in order?"

I frown.  "Your alarm measures seem to be adequate, but it disturbs me you keep fifteen people in the room during a security inspection."

He stares at me for a moment, as if he's deciding whether to suspect me or placate me.  He raises his head and addresses the room.   

"Friends, I need to speak with my associate for a moment.  Please, take advantage of the champagne and Franco's food.  I'll meet you all in the ballroom in just a moment."

The suits file out.  They're used to taking orders form this guy.  The beefy guys follow more slowly, looking to the man who led me in here for confirmation.  He inclines his head toward the door, and they all file out. 

"Is that better, Ms. Meredith?"

"Thank you, Mr. Salencia.  As you can understand, my company is quite concerned about this piece."

He smiles.  "Yes, I can understand.  It took me a number of years to locate such a magnificent artifact.  Would you like to see it?"

"Please."

He whips the cover off with a flourish. Under the glass cube is a perfect replica of the statue I inspected this morning.  

"It's beautiful."

"That it is.  My guests are quite anxious for its unveiling."

"I hope to have it out for them soon.  You won't object to a few more readings?  The immediate-area security measures are the most important."

"Not at all, Ms. Meredith."

As I start to take more readings of the glass cover, a figure appears in the half-open door.  It's Vaughn, dressed in a charcoal-gray suit and slightly iridescent cobalt-blue shirt, with a couple less buttons than I'm used to.  Beefy guy jumps toward him.  Vaughn steps backward and rakes his hand through his hair.  

"Sorry, I must've gotten lost.  I was looking for the Impressionists."

Beefy guy takes another step forward, but Salencia raises a hand, and he pauses.  Salencia rather blatantly looks Vaughn up and down.  

"The impressionists, you say?"

"Yes," Vaughn takes a half-step forward into the room.  "I was told your collection was," he does an exact repeat of the once-over Salencia gave him, "rather impressive."

_"Mike, you are the straightest gay man I have ever seen."_  I nearly choke.  

"Well, you're in the wrong wing.  I keep them next to the pre-Raphaelites."

"A fitting place."

"I thought so."  At this, Vaughn gives him a half-grin that I know all too well.  It's no less effective on Salencia.  He turns back to me.  

"Ms. Meredith, what else do you need here?"

"Nothing until it's time for the unveiling.  I'd like to accompany the artifact to the floor."

"Very well."   He turns back to Vaughn. "Mister…"

"It's Berrei, Marcus Berrei."  He looks down at his shoes, embarrassed.  "My friends call me Marc."

"Marc, I can show you back to the gallery."

Vaughn grins.  "I'd like that."  Salencia walks to the door and offers Vaughn his arm.  Vaughn actually takes it, and the two walk out.  

Unfortunately, they leave Beefy behind.  

I make a big show of the readings and mutter to Weiss.  "We need that guy out of here."

"Did you say something, Ms. Meredith?"

I laugh.  "Oh, no, I was just muttering at this meter.  The new layout gives me trouble."

He accepts this and goes back to his menacing stare.  

"Vaughn, Sydney's going to have some trouble.  Deactivate that thing soon and keep Salencia occupied as long as you can."  

There's a long pause, I imagine Vaughn can't risk speaking yet.  After a minute, Weiss pipes up again.

"Good work.  Syd, the alarm is down. The cameras will loop in about thirty seconds.  And Vaughn, if his hand moves an inch lower, we're sending in the team.  I'm here to protect your dignity." 

I start packing up my things, giving Weiss forty seconds before I move toward the door.  Beefy moves to intercept me.  

"I thought you wanted to stay here until the unveiling."

In response, he gets a kick to the gut.  He's fast; he grabs my ankle and starts to twist, but instead of fighting to keep my balance I go with the motion, twisting my body to put my full weight behind the briefcase, which I swing into the side of his head.  He's not expecting the weight of the marble inside, and slumps to the ground, unconscious.  

_"Sydney, great, you've got two minutes.  I'm coming around."_  I hear the crackle of Weiss' mike being passed off to someone else.

I run back to the statue and lift off the cover in one smooth motion.  I lift the statue carefully and place it on the floor, opening the main compartment of my briefcase to reveal the fake.  I hear voices in the hall.  Damn.  

I lift the two halves and fit them together as quickly as I can, twisting the base to secure them.  I place the replica carefully on the pedestal and lift the glass cover over it.  A hand reaches for the edge of the door.  With nowhere to go, I slip just behind the door.  Two of the suits are back, and the first one freezes when he sees the bodyguard crumpled on the floor.  Before he can cry out, I jab him across the back of the neck with the flat of my forearm, and follow it with a kick to the side.  He crumples on top of the bodyguard.  

I whirl around the half-open door, bringing the full force of my leg against the second suit.  He staggers backward a step, and I follow with a kick from my left leg to his opposite side.  He crumples, making a guttural sound, and I don't wait to see if he's unconscious.  I run across the room, grabbing the statue and my briefcase without bothering to put the remaining instruments back in.  I run toward a door on the opposite side of the room.  It opens to a dark-paneled hallway, and I run down it, looking for the servant's entrance.  The statue in one hand and the briefcase in the other slow me down.  I whisper into the comm.

"Dad, are you there?"

"Yes, Sydney, follow the next hallway to your right.  Weiss is in place.  Vaughn, Sydney's run into trouble.  Get out of there as soon as you can without calling attention to yourself."

I veer down the next hall, which is much less decorative, and see a door at the other end.  I can also hear voices coming from what I presume is the kitchen just ahead.  I slow down and creep toward the entrance.  A careful glance reveals a crowded industrial kitchen, with everyone too busy to notice me.  I run past the entrance and grasp the door handle.  I open it and step into the cool evening air.  I quietly shut it behind me and glance around.  There's no sign of Weiss.  

Before I can react, a figure jumps from the shadows and kicks me across the chest.  I reel backward, losing my balance and my grip on both the statue and the briefcase.  The figure, who is wearing something like a ski mask, reaches for something on his belt.  Before I have the chance to find out what, I kick across the ground in a sweeping motion at his feet.  It's not enough to make him fall, but he stumbles and it gives me the time to reach a crouching position.  He kicks toward my head and I duck, rolling right into the side of the statute.  I ignore the sharp pain in my forehead and put one hand underneath me, enough to spring halfway up.  I grab his ankle as it comes around again, bring my other hand up to grab it, and use my weight to fall back and pull him off-balance.  I roll to the other side, and he grabs at me as soon as he hits the ground.  I put one forearm up in defense and with the other grab whatever I can, which at this point happens to be the facemask.  As soon as I do, he lets out a strangled cry, places one hand over the mask, and rolls away, getting a bruise from the statute in the process.  As soon as he's out of my reach, he climbs to his feet and takes off running.  

It's not worth it to give chase.  I get up, grab the statue and start running in the direction of the van.  As soon as I round the corner of the house, I freeze.  Weiss is slumped against the brick wall, unmoving.  

"Oh, please, not again."

_"Sydney? What is it?  What's wrong?"_

"It's Weiss, I need some help--"  I reach for his neck, feeling for a pulse.  It's steady.  I push him down toward the ground, looking for blood.  He grunts a little, and I notice a dark, shiny patch on his hair.  I can feel a small bump on his head, with a laceration running the length of it.  It doesn't seem large, and given how easily head wounds bleed, it probably isn't deep, either.  I slap his cheek.

"Weiss, Eric, wake up.  Come on, wake up."  He moans a little and picks up his head, which promptly lolls over to one side.  I hear a sound behind us and whip around -- it's my father.  

"What happened?"

"I don't know, we were attacked.  He's got a cut on his head, but I don't see any other damage."

"Help me lift him, and we can carry him back to the van."  Between us, we manage to lift Weiss up and slowly work our way across the lawn.  I'm glad for the cover of darkness.  The CIA van is emblazoned with a florist's logo and the driver jumps the curb when he sees up approaching.  We open the back and lift Weiss in.  My heart freezes at what I _don't_ see.

"Where's Vaughn?"


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note:  Well, this thing just keeps growing.  We're at part four and it will have to go to at least part five.  I'll try to have the next part up soon, but real life might delay me for a couple days.  HUGE thanks to everyone who left feedback, you guys make my day.  

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"Where's Vaughn?"

Dad looks up at the driver, who shakes his head.  My mind starts whirling with the possibilities.  

"I'm going back in."

"_No,_ Sydney.  For all we know he's already out on the other side.  If you go back in there, it will only put both of you in jeopardy."

"What if he's not out?"  Dad clenches his jaw and doesn't say anything.  We both know there's no good solution.

"We need to get Weiss some help, quickly."

I jerk my sleeve up to see my watch.  It's been nine minutes since Vaughn was told to get out.  

"If he's not here in thirty seconds, I'm going back."  Dad nods.  Weiss makes an indistinct noise, starting to come around.  

My watch's second hand is standing still, teasing me.  I'm glancing constantly between it and the area around us.  No one's coming.  

28…29…30.

"I'm going."

"Be careful."

I run across the lawn to the nearest wall of the house, flattening myself against it.  I round the corner and see a long expanse of bare wall, dotted with a number of large windows.  I make my way to the third one down, from which bright light is streaming out.  The noise grows as I near it.  I peer in, and see it's one of many that opens into the grand ballroom.  I search for any sign of Vaughn or Salencia, but can't see either through the crowd.

"Looking for something?"   Now it's not just my heart, but my entire body that freezes.  I know that voice.

"Sark, what are you doing here?"

"Turn around slowly, Sydney, and see for yourself."

I start to turn -- "Uh, uh, hands up."  He emphasizes the point with the click of a handgun.  

Gritting my teeth, I raise my hands slightly, and turn slowly around.  I'm greeted with the sight of Sark, dressed in a black suit, holding a glock, and smiling at me the same way he did in Estonia.  He's standing just too far away for me to kick him without taking a rather deadly step forward.  

"We seem to keep meeting this way."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't play with me, Sydney.  We both know what you're here for.  I seem to remember once before, we made a rather profitable alliance."

"Go to hell."

"Now, now, Sydney.  Blind curses don't suit you.  Don't you want to hear what I have to offer?"

I don't answer.

"I'll take that as a yes.  Now, it seems an associate of mine has run into an associate of yours."  As he says this, he pulls a long-range walkie-talkie out of his pocket.  He presses the button.  "Are you in place?"

The only response is a muffled _thunk_.  "Speak up, Mr. Vaughn."

A strained voice rasps through.  "Sydney, whatev--" Sark releases the button.

"That's enough." I start to reach behind me.  "Uh, uh.  Keep your hands there.  Now, as I said before, I have a proposition for you."

"What?" I spit out the word.  He smiles again.

"You return to the van, bring me the CIA's little plaything, and I'll give you back your little plaything.  Are we clear?"

"No."

"Now, Sydney, I think we both know the lengths I'm ready to go to for the Rambaldi device.  And we both know the lengths you're ready to go to for your -- friend."

It kills me to say the words, but bargaining is the last chance I've got.

"That could have been a recording.  How do I know you have him?  How do I know he's even alive?"

Sark keeps smiling.

"You don't."

"No."

"Sydney, I don't have time to argue.  You have 90 seconds to get the statue and meet me back here.  Go."

I want to argue, I want to scream, I want to do anything but follow Sark's orders.  But I don't have a choice.  I slide my way back down the wall, and as soon as I reach the corner, I take off running.  


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Note:  Thanks again to everyone who left feedback.  I've given up predicting how long this story will run, so we'll just call this Chapter 5 of howevermany.

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As I'm running, I manage a hoarse whisper into my comm.  "Dad, did you get that?"

"Yes.  I'm leaving to circle around right now.  Is he alone?"

"I don't know.  I didn't see anyone, but whoever attacked Weiss is still out there."

"It wasn't Sark?"

"Not unless he ironed that suit in the last ten minutes."

"I'll watch out. I'm going."  I hear a crackle over my comm link, and it goes silent.  

He's already out of sight by the time I reach the van.  The back door is still open as I crawl halfway in.  The driver looks at me over his shoulder. 

"Do you know where Agent Vaughn is?"

"No, but I'm about to find out."  I'm on my knees in the van, feeling around for the statue.  Weiss is back against the partition behind the front seat, sitting partially up, eyes just beginning to focus.  I crawl back to him and rest my hand against his cheek.

"You okay?"

"Never…mission…again…gay."  We're partway back. 

"We'll get you out soon, I promise."  I only pray I can keep the same promise to Vaughn.  

The statue is lying near Weiss' feet.  Not believing what I'm about to do, I grab it and scurry back out of the van.  I know I'm well past my ninety seconds, but I need to buy Dad some time.  If I know Sark, he's not going to give up something he wants so badly over one extra minute.  I jog slowly until I come closer to his side of the house, then break into a run.  I reach the corner again and stop, flattening myself against the wall, peering slowly around the edge.  A voice speaks to me from the darkness.

"Stop skulking, Sydney, you're late."  

I step slowly around the corner.

"Go back to where you were.  Step into the light, where I can see you."  My spine stiffens as I think of everything I'd like to do to the source of that voice.  But I can't take any chances; this is for Vaughn.  Just the thought makes my heart pound faster.  _Please, please let Vaughn get out of here._  

I cross the wall slowly until I am standing near the window where I first encountered Sark.  The window casts a pool of light onto the lawn, and Sark steps slowly into the light, eyes roaming over me, no doubt looking for weapons, and stopping on the statue grasped in my left hand.  He raises his eyes to meet mine, his gaze hard and cold.  

"Now, Sydney, I'm disappointed in you.  We made a deal, and I was fully prepared to hold up my end of the bargain.  But it seems _you_ have failed to honor it.  Do you know what one of my associates found in the woods?"  The chill that started at my heart spreads to my entire body as a figure steps slowly out of the shadows.  Two figures.  My father stumbles forward slowly, hands behind his back, bleeding from a cut on his cheek.  Behind him, my masked attacker -- Weiss' masked attacker -- follows with one arm outstretched, pointing a gun at my father's head.  

I grip the statue more tightly, willing my hand not to tremble.  

"I have what you want.  Let him go."

Sark just smiles.  

"Ah, Sydney, it's a little more complicated than that."  He motions with his left hand, and my heart freezes a second time.  Two more figures emerge from the shadows.  First is Vaughn, hands bound in front of him, a large bruise beginning to form on his swelling jaw.  If it weren't for the adrenaline rushing through my system, the sight would turn my stomach.  

Just behind him, grinning proudly, is Salencia.  One of his hands rests near the base of Vaughn's neck, and I can see the glint of a blade against his dark suit.  

            The five of them form a perfect line, something right out of my nightmares.  Sark in the middle, with the two men I love most positioned on either side, each at the wrong end of a deadly weapon.  But I'll be damned if I'll let Sark see how much this scares me.

            "Stop playing games, Sark.  Just let them go and I'll give you the statue."

            That insipid smile hasn't even faded.

            "We can still make our trade.  To show you just how magnanimous I am, I'm willing to overlook your transgression and hold up my end of the bargain.  We just have one small problem: one statue only gets you one hostage.  So who will it be?"

            The masked attacker pulls back the hammer on the gun, keeping it trained on my father's head.  Salencia moves his hand forward, positioning his knife at the side of Vaughn's throat.  


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Note: Ok, this thing has been somewhat AU ever since "Free Agent" aired, but it's gong way AU in this chapter. Chapter 6.  
  
***********  
  
"Sydney--"  
  
"Syd--"  
  
I raise my hand and silence both of them. That argument won't get us anywhere.   
  
As I look back and forth between the two men I cannot live my life without, my father's words come back to me. Head, Sydney, not heart. It kills me, but my father was right.   
  
But not in the way he thinks. You don't ignore your heart to follow your head. You use your head to spare your heart. This is the riskiest thing I've ever done (and that, believe me, is saying a lot), but I'm about to prove I am my father's daughter.  
  
"Neither, Sark. I'm not taking either of them."  
  
"That's not our deal, Sydney. Don't play heroics. You're keeping one, and I'm keeping one. Now choose."  
  
"I have chosen. You can keep both of them, Sark. I don't have any doubts about their ability to handle you." Sark gives me a sarcastic snort. "I want something else. Your associate over there hurt a very good friend of mine," I see Vaughn go pale, "and tried to take the artifact from me. He wouldn't give up until I pulled on his facemask. Keeping his identity secret was more important than getting the Rambaldi. So, if I give you the statue, I want to see your lackey's face."  
  
Sark looks more startled than I've ever seen. He and the lackey look at each other, though I imagine it's hard to exchange glances from behind that mask. My father looks as if he's about to make a move, but the lackey moves the gun sideways, into his line of vision. My father relaxes. Vaughn is just watching the whole exchange with this heaven-help-me-I'm-dating-a-Bristow look on his face.   
  
After a long moment, Sark turns back toward me, his self-assurance and unflappable demeanor back in place. "Very well, then. Give me the statue."  
  
"No. You first."  
  
To my surprise, he acquiesces. He steps over to his associate and takes the gun from his hand, keeping it trained at my father's head. His associate steps back to the right, on the far side of my father, giving me an unobstructed view as he reaches up and pulls off the mask.  
  
The Rambaldi statue drops from my hands. I slump back against the wall behind me. This isn't real; this can't be real. I'm hallucinating -- there is just no way I'm actually seeing what I think I'm seeing.  
  


  
"Francie?"


	7. Chapter 7

"Francie?"

The statue drops from my hand as I sag back against the wall.  I can't be seeing this.  I must be hallucinating.  I just can't be seeing this.  

"Get the Rambaldi."  Sark addresses Francie, motioning to her with the gun that's still trained on my father's head.  She walks over to me, grinning.  She stoops down beside me, face inches from mine.  

"Hi, Syd."  She almost laughs the words.  My body tenses, it's telling me to react, to fight -- and I can't.  _This is Francie.  This is Francie._  The words keep running through my brain as I'm paralyzed, shocked into inaction, slumped against the cold brick wall.  

Her fingers curl around the statue that just seconds ago slipped from my hand.  

"Arghgh!"  The strangled sound rips through my shock, jolting me back to reality.  It's Vaughn.

Salencia's hand moved a bit and I can now see the lightest spot of red dimming the knife's shining blade.  It isn't much, but it's enough.  

My hand inches forward, fingers curling around the statue.  Francie jerks involuntarily, unprepared for my move.  My eyes meet hers as I twist the statue quickly and violently, wrenching it from her hand.  With nowhere else to move, I raise the heavy marble straight out, to my side, and with all the strength I have smash it against the glass of the ballroom window.  

I'm rewarded with the gratifying sound of shattered glass and the simultaneous shrieks of the guests inside.  The pain I know must be in my arm hasn't registered yet.  I will my numb fingers to open, dropping the statue through the opening onto the floor inside.  

Everything happens at once.  

Francie, momentarily frozen in shock, recovers enough and begins to rear back for a punch.  I pull my arm away from the glass, preparing to dodge her fist.  

Sark yells, "Anna!  Get the statue!"

My father grabs Sark's wrist, twisting it off-balance so that the gun is no longer pointed at him, but at a point just past his head.  Sark starts to reach over with his other hand, but not before Dad grabs his wrist with both hands, twisting it fully backward as he simultaneously kicks across the ground, connecting with Sark's feet.  Thrown off balance, Sark starts to fall backward, his grip loosened just enough for Dad to wrench the gun from his hand.  Dad brings the butt of the gun solidly against Sark's forehead, causing him to fall to the ground, disoriented.  

Francie turns her attention from me to the window, whipping around to connect a fast roundhouse kick to the remaining glass.  There's more screaming and chattering from the guests inside as an apparently unconcerned Francie reaches through the absent window, groping around for the statue on the floor inside.  

Vaughn doesn't move.  

I stand up, eager to get out of Francie's reach, and freeze before I've gone two steps.  When Sark reached over with his left hand a moment ago, he wasn't reaching for my father.  He was reaching for the gun concealed beneath his own jacket.  _Stupid! _ I chastise myself as the same glock that was pointed at me a few minutes ago is now aimed squarely at my father's head.  

"Drop it."  Sark says.

My father glances down at him, back up at Vaughn, and across to me.  And fires. 


	8. Chapter 8

Author's Note: I've upgraded the rating, just to be safe.  Thanks so much to everyone who has left reviews, and thanks for waiting through the fifteen cliffhangers.

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My father glances down at him, back up at Vaughn, and across to me.  And fires. 

Salencia jerks back and slumps to the ground, blood pouring from the exit wound on his left temple. Vaughn twists away, spattered with blood and gray matter, letting the hand with the knife fall back and away from his neck.  

Sark raises his gun and fires.  The shot is wild, whizzing past Dad's head into the darkness.  Vaughn jumps forward, grabbing Sark's wrists, forcing the gun back over his head, pointed at the trees beyond, as they struggle.  

My father swings the gun around to aim at Francie, who has fished the Rambaldi out of the window and stands, clutching it to her chest.

"Drop the statue."  He orders.

"Or what?  Or you'll shoot me?  Right here in front of Sydney?  That will be a lovely picture to leave in your daughter's head."  She stares him down, and neither moves for a long moment.  

Vaughn has subdued Sark, wrenching the gun away and using the butt to give him another blow to the forehead.  He straightens up, standing with the gun pointed at Sark's head.  It's probably unnecessary, since Sark's grip on consciousness isn't looking so good right about now.  

My instincts continue to scream at me, to fight, to struggle, to take out Francie, grab the Rambaldi and run.  But I just can't do it.  This is Francie, my roommate, my best friend, the one I cried with after Danny died, the one I celebrated with the night we were finally able to remove our engagement rings.  I can't fight Francie.  

She steps to the side, never taking her eyes off my father.  He moves the gun a bit to follow her, but does not fire.  Her lips creep up just a bit, in a sinister smile, as she turns from him and saunters away, still holding the statue.  He slowly swings the gun around, keeping it trained on her as she disappears into the darkness.  

We all turn in unison at a sound from the opposite side of the house -- a florist's van has jumped the curb and is tearing across the lawn, throwing up little bits of turf as it goes.  It swings around roughly on the soft ground and stops, its back facing us.  

The back doors are flung open and I see Weiss, half-leaning against the doorpost as he gestures toward us with one hand.  

"I'm going to the hospital, and the three of you are coming! Get the hell in here so we can get the hell out!"  

Dad lowers his gun and I run toward the van.  Vaughn glances up, uncertain, and Dad shakes his head.  "Leave him.  We don't have time."  He steps over to Sark, who receives yet another blow to the head.  Straightening up, he reaches under Vaughn's own collar, pulls out the comm link,  and slides it into the pocket of the now-unconscious Sark.  He glances back at Vaughn, who nods in understanding.  They climb into the van just behind me, Vaughn reaching back to shut the door.  


	9. Chapter 9

Author's Note:  This chapter is a bit longer, and I apologize in advance for all the exposition.  The next (also longer) chapter will be the last, and will serve as an epilogue.  Thanks to all who left feedback, you guys are great!

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Vaughn barely has the door shut before we're headed off, tearing back across the enormous lawn toward the nearest street.  I can hear our driver yelling into the radio up front.

"Alert the agency hospital, we're coming in with four patients from the Salencia estate.  Yes, four."  He looks back at us for confirmation.  Dad nods.  

I crawl over to Vaughn, who's leaning against the back door.  "Vaughn, your neck--"  Involuntarily, my hand reaches out to trace the bright line, to see how deep it runs.

He shakes his head and pushes my hand away.  "It's just a scratch.  I've done worse shaving."  He looks down in surprise at what he just pushed away.  

"Sydney, your arm--"

I look down, surprised to see the blood soaking through my suit coat.  The pain has finally started to register, a dull ache starting deep in my muscles and throbbing up toward my shoulder.  

"It's okay."  

Weiss groans from his position, slumped against the van's wall on the other side of Vaughn.

"What do I have to do to get some attention around here?  Get shot again?"

Vaughn reaches over and pats his hand.  "Poor Eric.  Does he need more sugar?"

"Not from you! And stop touching me."  

At least we know Weiss is going to be okay.

I wish I could say the same for the rest of us.  Vaughn is making light of it, but I know he's pretty banged up.  Weiss probably has a mild concussion.  As if he hasn't already used up his sick leave for the next two years.  My father is sitting up on one of the seats, stoic, watching the rest of us.  The gash on his cheek has stopped bleeding, but a bruise is forming below it, starting to radiate downward in a deepening shade of purple.

And I wish I could say I'm worried about my arm.  I'm not; the suit I'm wearing gave me some protection, but the truth is I could have lost the whole thing back there and I still wouldn't be able to concentrate on it right now.  The reality of what happened is starting to sink in, and as the adrenaline wears off, the truth about what kind of lie I've been living in begins to hit me.  Right in the stomach.  I think I'm going to be physically ill.  

Vaughn glances over at me, the Creases of Concern making one of their more notable appearances.  He reaches over and takes my uninjured hand, holding it in his the rest of the way to the hospital.  

We ride in silence.  

**********************

I've remained silent, through five hours in the emergency room, through Weiss' wisecracks as he successively hits on every nurse, through Vaughn's palpable worry, through my father's taciturn questions.  My voice mirrors his, quick, spare sentences that convey information, but no emotion.  I wonder when I will be able to feel anything.  I wonder if it will be better or worse when I do.  

Twelve miserable hours pass before we return to LA and are transported immediately to Ops Center, trudging one by one into the conference room where Kendall sits at the head of a long table, eyes flashing almost as brightly as the light bulbs reflecting off his head. 

We make a lovely picture.  Weiss weaves in first, a little unsteady, looking more drunk than anything else.  A little concussion and a lot of codeine will do that to you.  My father comes next, walking in confident strides, a small bandage covering the two stitches to his cheek, but not the now-blue bruise that runs from his cheekbone to just below his earlobe.  Vaughn follows, with a long strip of sterile adhesive poking out above his collar, and nothing to cover the yellowing bruise on his jaw.  

I trudge in last, for the second time today feeling like a child on her way to the principal's office, and for the second time today not giving a damn.  I've got my arm in a sling, which is more for comfort than necessity.  Only one laceration was deep enough for stitches, the shallow cuts that crisscross the rest of my forearm are sealed with liquid bandages and wrapped in guaze. 

Kendall manages to keep quiet until we're all seated, which I'm sure is a Herculean feat for him.  He stands up, looks at each of us in turn, and bursts out.

"What is this, the Keystone Cops?  Do you have _any_ idea what this blunder cost the agency?"

Dad's tone is ice.  "Looking at the state of your agents, I assure you we do."

Kendall barely pauses for breath.  

"I don't think I can begin to list the number of foul-ups and breaches of protocol which took place in the last few hours.  The cost to the CIA, in both tactical losses and endangered personnel…"

At this point, I tune out and start making a list of reasons why I should tune back in.  As soon as I get a good one, I'll start listening.  

Still waiting.

So, it's a well-known fact that Kendall's face turns red when he's angry, and we have now progressed from face to forehead to entire head, not to mention the two purple veins throbbing on his temple.  I could probably take his pulse from here.  I shift my good arm to get a look at my watch.  About 91 b.p.m.  Not good.

"Agent Bristow, is there some other commitment I'm keeping you from?"

Okay, one reason.

And, for the record, he asked for it.

"Yes, there is.  I'm here to ensure men like Sark and Salencia are stopped before they do real damage, and I'm pretty sure that's why the rest of us are here, as well.  So I'm trying to figure out why we've been called in here at seven in the morning for a lecture when there's actual work to be done."

Kendall actually stops speaking for about five seconds.  Five seconds in which I'm waiting for that little vein to explode.  When he begins again, it's with a startling change in tone.

"Agent Bristow, I do not undervalue your contributions to the CIA or to the progress we've made in the last week.  I _am_ wondering how you could let Sark and his associates get away and how you managed to do so in full view of the guests at Salencia's party."

I'm about to fire back when my father steps in.  

"Perhaps it would be best if we discussed the questions remaining open from this mission."

Kendall looks pissed, but doesn't disagree.

"Fine."  He studies a file laying open before him.  "Sark was wearing the comm link for forty-three minutes before it was located and deactivated.  Unfortunately, for most of that period he was either unconscious or alone in some kind of transport, presumably the back of a van or the backseat of a car.  But we were able to record a conversation between himself and another asset, someone he referred to as 'Anna.'"

Everyone glances up when they hear me gasp.

"Anna?  You don't think Anna Espinosa--"

"No, we don't.  We're still waiting for analysis, but the voice on that tape sounds nothing like Espinosa."

"May we hear it?"  Vaughn asks.

"Yes."  Kendall picks up a remote and points it at a screen on the opposite wall.  The screen flashes blue, but there's no visual.  I can hear static and background noises over the speakers.  

The voices begin.

"Anna -- where's Salencia?"  It's a groggy-sounding Sark.

"He was shot by Jack Bristow.  Bled out."  

My blood freezes and I grip the edge of the table with my free hand.  I would recognize Francie's voice anywhere.  

"The Bristows -- where are they?"

"They got away after shooting Salencia.  As did Agent Vaughn and the fourth agent I disabled before the hand-off."

Everyone tenses at this, especially Weiss.

"Did you get the Rambaldi?"

"Yes.  I've arranged to meet with Mr. Slone tomorrow so we may begin the analysis."

Vaughn drops his pen.  It clatters to the floor with a noise that seems almost violent, given the silence of the room.  Kendall pauses the playback.  For a moment, no one speaks.  

This cannot be happening to me.  I know this absolutely cannot be happening.  

Dad is the first one to recover his voice.  Even I'm startled at the level of animosity in it.  

"Sloane has arranged this all along."

"His disappearance from the Alliance…" Vaughn starts, but doesn't finish.

"A week before the takedown.  He knew about this.  He probably _planned_ this."  Dad stops, and no one has the heart to go on.  The Alliance.  Our takedown, the victory -- all of it, all of it, he knew about.  If he didn't set it up.  I am going to be physically ill.

"That son of a bitch.  He set this up…he knew.  He knew we would take down the Alliance.  _Why_ didn't I see this?"  I bang my fist on the table with enough force to rattle the entire thing. 

Vaughn's voice is calm.  "Sydney, no one could have known this.  None of us saw this coming."  He glances up for confirmation from the others, and on their faces I can see the same mixture of shock, anger and betrayal that must be on mine.  But we have to keep going -- we can't let this paralyze us.  I draw a shaky breath.

"That was Francie.  On the tape -- that was Francie."

"Agent Bristow, are you sure about that?"  Kendall asks.

"Positive.  I would know her voice--" I draw a breath to stop the tears before they have the chance to reach my eyes.  

Kendall doesn't wait for me to continue.

"What reasons would your roommate have for--"

"None!  There are none!  Francie would never do something like this."

"Agent Bristow, we don't have time for you to sort through your denial.  We need information on Francie Calfo and we need to move on that information now."

My father interrupts us with a wave of his hand.

"Wait.  Sydney, did you say Franice was the person he was referring to as Anna?"

"Yes -- yes.  That's what he called her on the tape."

"He called her that at the scene, too."  Everyone looks up at Vaughn.  "Right after she pulled off the mask.  Sark said, 'Anna, get the statue.'"

I shake my head.  "I didn't hear it -- I was probably in too much shock to notice."

"But why would he--" Dad looks up at us sharply.  "Marcovic's device.  It was used--"

We all speak at once. 

"You don't think--"

"No."

"But why--"

Kendall bangs his hand down on the table.  "Would _any_ of you care to complete a sentence?"

Dad clears his throat. "We have been trying to ascertain the identity of the second person to use the Helix device.  Anna Espinosa has not been seen in over a year.  If she were working with Sark underground, she would be an ideal mole.  Given their previous encounters, we have reason to believe she would take any opportunity to bring Sydney down."

It makes sense.  It really does.  Part of me wants to stand up and execute a cartwheel down the conference table, bad arm and all.  The possibility this is not Francie, that I really don't have to believe what I've seen, is enough to break through the numbness that's seeped through me in the last few hours.

But another part of me can't celebrate.  Just as bad as the numbness is a new sensation, the chilling fear that runs in my veins.  If that wasn't Francie, _where is she_?


	10. Epilogue

Author's Note:  Thanks to everyone for your feedback and encouragement, it is sincerely appreciated!  I've decided to end the story here, some have suggested I keep going, but I feel I would run out of creative steam if I kept this going too much longer.  

This chapter is a little different from the others, I'm calling it an epilogue because it skips forward in time by about two weeks, and wraps up (I hope!) some of the running themes.  Thank you all for your patience and I hope you enjoy this.

************

Another part of me can't celebrate.  Just as bad as the numbness is a new sensation, the chilling fear that runs in my veins.  If that wasn't Francie, _where is she_?

************

We found out where she was a week later.  Raiding an office rumored to be used by Sloane and his associates, we arrived too late.  He left them there for me, the pictures, in an innocuous manila envelope poking out from a half-open drawer.  I opened the envelope without thinking, and the pictures slid into my hands.  They fell to the floor as they slipped through my fingers, one by one, and Vaughn stooped down in front of me to pick them up.

He froze when he saw the first one -- the shining steel pans in the kitchen, the smear of blood on tile, and her, slumped, eyes still open like she saw what was coming and never understood.  

More pictures followed -- a blue tarp, a trunk, the spot where they parked by the bay, an unceremonious burial at sea.

I remember lying on the floor of the ladies' room, the tile cool against my flushed cheeks.  I remember the lemony smell of solvent and the steady drip-drip of the sink someone forgot to turn off.  I remember Vaughn yelling through the door, telling everyone to get decent or get out, he was coming in.  He held back my hair when I bent over the toilet, again and again, fingers tangling through the damp strands while his other hand rubbed my back, gently, in circles between my shoulder blades.  

He stood beside me when I phoned her parents, held my hand while I told them an approved story about a late night, an armed robbery.  A shot to the head, I told them, with no pain; it was a quick death.  I went on, told them of a criminal found dead the next day, a drug deal gone wrong.  No prosecution, no arrest, no trial, just a closed casket and a service at the church where she used to sing as a little girl.  

He stood beside me, in his black funeral suit, outside the church where we came to say goodbye.  

Will sat beside me during the ceremony, on the second pew, just behind her parents.  His green eyes are rimmed with red and his hand trembles as he opens the hymnal.  I reach over and take that hand in mine, and we remain that way through the entire service, two people alone, the only two who knew her so well, who miss her so sharply, who know the real reason behind her death.  

Vaughn sits silently beside me; he understands.  Understands why I call Will late into the night, why I never eat the food I twirl listslessly around my fork, why I sleep on his couch instead of at my apartment, why I prefer the strange discomfort of the sofa to the warm comfort of the wide bed.  

He stands beside me at the graveside, watching while Francie's mother drops the first handful of dirt, watching while the minister reads, "Though I pass through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me, thy rod and thy staff they comfort me," watching while the pallbearers unpin the white roses on their lapels and place them on the shining cherrywood of the casket.    

He stays there, beside me, as everyone else walks away, as her parents give me hugs and her sister kisses my cheek, as I lock eyes with Charlie, standing at the edge of the crowd, and he gives me the slightest nod before slipping away.

Everyone else slips away, too, as the limo carries off her parents, and I am left standing there, staring at the empty casket, Vaughn by my side.  Will stands there too, a bit away, his eyes dimmed with the guilt I have told him not to feel a hundred times, the guilt I tell myself not to feel as every moment slips by.  The afternoon sun is low, I can tell from the warm amber tones of the light that falls on the flowers and reflects off the polished cherrywood.   A breeze stirs the petals of the lilies and blows tickling hair across my nose.  Will and I lock eyes, red-rimmed green meeting crimson-rimmed brown, and I cross over to where he's standing.  

"This is not your fault.  You have to believe that."  

He shakes his head, still staring at the casket.  "Tell me you don't blame yourself."

I feel my chin quiver as the tears sting my eyes.  "Will, when Danny died, I did this.  I blamed myself, and no matter what anyone else said, I went to bed every night certain that I'd done it -- that I'd killed him.  The thing is, after a while, you begin to see past yourself, past your grief, and you know who's really behind this."

He's quiet for a long moment.  

"Is this what it's like, being a spy?"

"Not always."

And then we are both quiet, each lost in our own thoughts.

"She was the last one, you know.  The last link to my old life."  Will looks over at me for the first time.  "My mother told me, she said not to see myself only as a spy, not to forget I'm more than that.  But this thing, this life -- it's swallowed up everything else.  First Danny, then you, and now Francie--" my voice breaks.  "It's like there's nothing else.  That I'm caught in this whirlpool and it just strips away everyone and everything I love -- I can pay for this life; I don't mind that.  But I don't understand why _she_ had to pay for it, too."  The last of my resolve breaks and I crumple into Will's arms, the sobs shaking my body at the same time they shake his, my tears soaking his jacket at his tears soak mine.  We both fight for control, and lose, and try again, and after a long time his hands stop trembling and my breathing becomes regular, and we slowly pull apart, meeting each other's eyes.  

"Thanks, Syd -- for everything.  Thank you."  

I nod, and bite my lip.  "Will, I'm sorry--"

"No, don't.  Don't be." He manages a small grin.  "I couldn't ask for a better friend.  Don't forget that."

"I won't."

He looks over his shoulder, toward the parking lot.  "I think I'm gonna go back now."

"Do you need someone to drive you?"

"No, I'll be okay.  I need to be alone for a while.  Get some fresh air."  

I nod.  "Be careful."

He walks away, leaving me alone beside the casket, Vaughn a respectful distance away.  I look down at it for a moment, fingers trailing over the smooth contours.  I will come here again, I know.  Even though it's empty, I feel a connection with her here, a solace born of shared sorrow and mutual tears.  

I hear shuffling in the background and I look around to see Vaughn, taking a seat on a bench nearby.  I turn to walk toward him, take two steps, and freeze.  Another figure is standing off to the side, dark suit blending with the deepening shadows beneath a nearby tree.

I cross to him with a stride that quickens; Vaughn does not follow.  We are only a few feet apart when I stop, keeping a safe distance, unsure what to say.

He speaks first.

"Sydney, I'm sorry.  I know--" he clears his throat.  "I know how close the two of you were."

The tears I've been blinking back begin to fall.  "Dad--" my voice cracks.  "Thank you for coming."  

We stand there a moment, silent, with only the soft sounds of my tears falling on the lapels of my suit.  

"Sydney…there's something I need to tell you."

Oh, no.  Please, not this.   In my family, those words never mean, "I need to say I love you" or "I'm sorry."  They precede something like, "your mother is a notorious assassin" or "I'm a double agent for the CIA."  I draw a breath, and brace myself, and meet his eyes, signaling him to continue.

"Last year, shortly after you joined the CIA, you and I were supposed to meet for dinner." 

I nod mutely, the tears falling more freely.  "I remember."

"I called you and cancelled; I said I had to work."  He looks away from me, past my shoulder.  

"I lied.  When I called you, I was in my car, parked outside the restaurant."  He meets my eyes.  "When I saw you there, waiting at the table -- I realized who I was seeing.  A grown woman, the image of your mother, sitting at that table and waiting.  I realized then how much of your life I'd missed out on, how I'd let you go from a little girl to the woman I see now without ever stopping to figure out how, and why, you grew up to be the person that you are.  I realized --" he breaks off, glancing away, then back again.  "I realized how much I'd missed.  And I didn't know how to make that distance up, how to know that woman sitting in the restaurant.  So I called, and cancelled."

I'm not sure why he's telling me this, or what he hopes to say, but I know somehow this is his way of trying to make things better, trying to make me better, however awkward it may be.  

"Sydney, I don't know now any better than I knew then, but, I was wondering--" he shifts his weight a bit, pausing before he continues.  "I was wondering if you're free Thursday night?"

I smile, the tears slowing as they run down onto the corners of my lips.  I don't say anything; I don't trust my voice.  Instead, I step forward, closing the distance between us.  I wrap both my arms around my father's neck.  He is stiff, unsure how to respond, but after a moment he puts both arms around me, and even ventures a slight pat to my shoulder.  Despite his stiffness, I'm the first to let go.  I smile at him before I walk away.

"Seven o'clock okay?"

"Yes," he answers, "seven will be fine."

Vaughn is waiting for me on the bench nearby, ostensibly not watching this little exchange.  I sit down beside him as he continues to study his shoelaces.  

"They're tied, you know."

"Wha -- oh."  He grins sheepishly.  "Everything with Jack okay?"

"Good, actually.  But I have to cancel dinner for Thursday night."  

He smiles, and looks at me, remembering a different Thursday, a different dinner, with different tears.  

"Sydney, what I said to you a long time ago -- when you're at your absolute lowest, your most depressed -- I meant that.  I still do."

I reach over and take his hand.

"I know that, Vaughn."

He looks back to his shoes, and not at me, when he continues.

"Syd, you need to know I've waited a long time -- a _long_ time, for this -- but if it's not right, if this is not what you need right now, I want you to know I'll be there for you.  Whatever you need -- if it's a friend, a lover, or someone to back away and give you space -- I'll do that.  Or at least I'll try."

He turns his head to look at me sideways, and his eyes are serious, and sad.  I purse my lips and we just look at each other for a moment, both waiting to find out where this will go.

"Vaughn, I know I'm at my worst right now.  I will be for a long time.  But the one thing I know, the one thing I do need to get through this -- it's you."

He smiles, a small smile that's both overjoyed and heartbroken, and I know both the sorrow and the joy are for me.  I smile back.  He squeezes my hand.  

"Are you ready to go?"

"No, I think I'd like to stay here for a minute.  To say goodbye."  I glance over at the burial site, now cleared of mourners; the mortuary attendants have not arrived yet to start clearing everything away.  

He nods.  "I'll wait for you in the car.  Take as long as you need."

He stands up, and starts to walk away, but he's only gone three steps when he turns back.

"Sydney, you know I love you."

"Yes, I do."

I smile, my eyes meeting his, and I know that he knows, too.


End file.
